


Smoke & Mirrors

by Illeana Starbright (SunlightOnTheWater)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quarter Quell, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23351293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlightOnTheWater/pseuds/Illeana%20Starbright
Summary: For the 75th Hunger Games, President Snow's clever little twist is that two tributes can win, provided that they have entered an alliance with each other from the feast on. District 4's female tribute, Summer Hayes, sees the new rule as another nail in her coffin, knowing that there's no way the Career Pack will keep her alive for that long. Not after what her famously victorious (and then dead) older sister accomplished in the games four years ago. District 2's bloodthirsty male tribute, Cato Acosta, isn't intending to bring anyone out of the arena with him. Neither one of them pay much attention to the one thing that will tie their fates together. Not until the aftermath of their brutal and bloody battle for survival.An AU where Katniss and most of the cast of The Hunger Games are two years younger, so the book's events are delayed until the 77th Annual Hunger Games.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of my old fic, Breaking, on FanFiction.net, which never actually got finished due to some pacing issues that I wasn't, at the time, sure how to fix. Now that I'm older and (hopefully) wiser, I'm working on revamping it and fleshing out everything more. This is also going to be considerably more bloody (and probably darker) than the original, so I'll put warnings for potential triggers in the notes that the beginning of each chapter.
> 
> The only potential issue in this chapter is mentions of past suicide of a character, but nothing in graphic detail.

_Summer_

* * *

It's supposed to be an honor. That's what they tell us every year while we line up in makeshift corrals near the beach, waiting to see which person's name will be pulled out of the glass bowls on the hastily set up stage. It's not, even here in District 4 where our tributes are part of the Career Pack more often than not. The bloodthirsty little monsters from Districts 1 and 2 tend to drag our tributes along as extra muscle before disposing of them in various awful ways. Occasionally one of our tributes pulls through, but there are far more tributes in the graveyard than there are in the Champion's Circle. Those that do come home are far from the same children that left it. Annie Cresta's sanity shattered in the 70th Hunger Games and never recovered, leaving her vacant eyed and lost more often than not, as if she was wandering through the world as a visitor instead of living as one of its inhabitants. Mags Flanagan, District 4's original victor from the 11th Hunger Games, had a stress induced stroke when she was in her thirties that left her speech slurred and forced her to rely on a cane more often than not. Before that, small children were cautioned not to touch her without getting her attention first because she would lash out almost automatically. Chella Reed returned home and broke off her two year engagement publicly, rebuffing her lover's attempts to convince her otherwise by tearfully insisting that she couldn't marry him with all the blood on her hands. Finnick Odair spent most the year at the Capitol, as if he could no longer stand the sight of the place that had served him up as a sacrifice, and when he was around he flinched at every loud noise in the marketplace. My sister Rosalyn, our most recent victor, had come home looking haggard and haunted and had survived for a week before she'd hung herself in her new dining room. Winning seemed to be barely better than being tortured to death by bored Career tributes, and only because you survived.

The propaganda video that played every year, trying to cram the idea that the Games were some way to win glory and honor, not lifelong trauma, finished up and then switched to President Snow sitting in his office for the Quarter Quell twist announcement. Every twenty-five years the Capitol held what they called a Quarter Quell, a version of the Hunger Games with what they called a twist. This special change to the rules had a tendency to make the Games more deadly for the tributes and more entertaining for the Capitol. People all around District 4 had been speculating anxiously on what the twist would be for this year. The music faded out and the camera zoomed further in on Snow as he said, "Citizens of Panem, as many of you know, this year's Hunger Games also has the honor of being our 3rd Quarter Quell. Like the previous Quarter Quells, this means a special change has been made to the rules. For this year only, two tributes will be permitted to become victors as a reminder of the Captiol's mercy after the rebellion was over. Good luck tributes, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Farah, our district's escort, tottered up to the microphone on six inch stilettos the instant President Snow was no longer on the screen. Her saffron colored hair was pulled in a chignon with sparkling ruby jeweled hairpins that matched the red of her dress. Her dark skin was speckled liberally with gold glitter that flashed in the sunlight and her lips were coated in the same metallic gold color. She fumbled with the microphone for a moment before crooning out, "Hello District 4! We're gathered here today to pick the lucky tributes for the 75th Annual Hunger Games, so let's get started!" She tottered away from the microphone, accidentally hitting it with one of her excessively puffy sleeves and creating a staticky sound, before dipping her bejewelled nails into one of the glass bowls. She fished around for a moment before triumphantly yanking a slip of thick paper free and waving it in the air on the way back to the microphone.

"The male tribute for District 4 is Aron Arroyo," Farah cheered and the crowd obediently clapped while a lanky, tanned seventeen year old with sea green eyes made his way up to stand next to her. As soon as he was in place the clapping stopped and Farah tottered her way to the other bowl, eagerly yanking out another slip of paper with much less fanfare. Farah always seemed to revel in this ceremony as if she were excited to pick the two that were going to die. Again she waved the slip of paper in the air on the way back to the microphone before unfolding it and saying, "And the female tribute for District 4 is Summer Hayes."

The polite clapping was almost drowned out by the roaring in my ears as I made my way towards the stage. Climbing the four short stairs felt like trying to scale a mountain with my legs feeling like lead. Farah was beaming at me with open delight. I was her ticket to popularity in the Capitol. She'd be the escort of the girl everyone would be talking about, especially since it had been only years since Rosalyn had become a tragic darling in the Capitol's eyes. My older sister had charmed and seduced the boys of the Career pack, convincing them to do her dirty work for them before slaughtering them in her sleep. She'd sliced through the last remaining tributes like a hot knife through butter and returned home to screaming nightmares for two days before she'd moved up. She'd killed herself five days later, and I'd been the one to step through the front door and find her. While I'd been struggling with finding my beloved big sister dead just seven days after getting her back, the Capitol had been turning Rosalyn into a tragic hero like she was a storybook heroine and not a person they'd destroyed.

Aron offered me his hand the moment I was standing across from him, giving me a surprisingly handsome gap-toothed smile. I turned away, feeling nauseous. In a matter of hours the Capitol would be broadcasting my name and my sister's tragic fate over and over again. They'd be pulling up clips of Rosalyn from her Hunger Games and turning me into some larger than life mythical figure. They'd place a target on my back and the Careers would quickly finish me off to keep me from stealing any sponsorship money from them. It wouldn't be safe for me to trust anyone, and even then I'd probably only stay alive long enough to figure out which one of my hunters would be willing to give me a merciful death. My chances for survival were dismal. It was better for both of us if Aron didn't share anything with me aside from our district because, in truth, I was already dead. My body just hadn't quite figured that out yet.

* * *

_Cato_

* * *

The Reaping was a huge joke. Everyone in District 2 already knew who their tributes for the Quarter Quell were going to be. They'd already known for weeks, when the Academy had announced the results in the newspaper. The ceremony was just a silly formality they all had to sit through before I could get on the train with Antonia Marcellus and the real Hunger Games could begin. Our district's escort, Braxton, took the stage, his metallic tattoos gleaming in the bright lights. He'd had the job for two years after the previous escort, Talulah, had publicly and rather hysterically declared that she couldn't take one more minute surrounded by _those heathens_. She'd stormed off while the camera was still trained on Brutus and Enobaria, the victor pair that was mentoring District 2's tributes through the 80th Annual Hunger Games, and have never come back. Braxton had taken her place without comment the next year and, since the camera had only caught that part of the argument, no one but Brutus and Enobaria knew exactly what had set the district's former escort off.

The good news was that Braxton wasn't one for fanfare. Talulah had treated the ceremony like it was some hugely dramatic play she was putting on, pausing for effect and dragging out every second she was on camera. In contrast, Braxton was already pulling the first slip of paper from one of the glass bowls as President Snow finished his speech about the twist for the Quarter Quell. "Andromeda Lacus," he announced, calling the name of a curly haired girl in my age group.

Andromeda stood, just for show, as Antonia shrieked, "I volunteer," and lunged from her seat. Antonia Marcellus was two years younger than me and an absolute brat. Her weapon of choice was knives, and she was deadly with them, but her personality was a huge downside. I would have rather worked with Andromeda. She might not have been quite the fighter Antonia was, but she was a quick thinker and not inclined to throw temper tantrums when things didn't go her way.

The crowd clapped and cheered as Antonia practically sprinted to the stage, her auburn hair waving behind her like a cape. Once she was on stage, she bounced in place a couple of times, beaming at down at everyone else. Braxton waved her over to the microphone to introduce herself while he headed for the second bowl to draw out the second token name of the day. He was back the moment Antonia stepped away from the microphone, unfolding the slip of paper and said, "Matthais Hadley." The boy who stood was from Antonia's age group. He was skinny, unimpressive, and the only reason he hadn't been expelled from the Academy yet was his talent with a bow and his ability to think his way out of sticky situations. He'd probably be out before the next Reaping, and by the anxious look on his face, he'd be glad about it.

"I volunteer." I'd waited four years to be able to say that. Four long years of hard work and extra hours in the training rooms instead of going home for holidays. Four years of learning how to use my temper instead of letting it control me. It had been the four longest years of my life, but all the work was paying off.

Clove stuck her tongue out at me as I made my way toward the stage, still peeved over the fact that I was making it into the Hunger Games before her. At thirteen, my cousin was tiny and deadly, rending training dummies into shreds with her knives. In a couple more years she'd probably be District 2's female tribute, but she wasn't happy she had to wait. Clove had been dreaming of becoming a Hunger Games victor almost as long as I had. When we were younger she'd dreamed of being chosen at twelve, beating me into the Games, and becoming the youngest ever victor. She'd clung to that dream even as twelve turned into thirteen, and then dedicated herself to being pettily annoying when she found out I had been chosen but she hadn't. I thought it was endearing, sort of like a tiny angry kitten shredding your socks. You knew the kitten was angry, but you couldn't help but coo over how adorable the whole scene was.

I grinned down from the stage at the crowd as I said my name into the microphone, basking in the mixture of admiration of jealousy my peers regarded me with. They all wanted to be me, standing up here grinning sharply for the cameras. As I'm led off the stage towards the train, not wasting time saying goodbye to my parents again, I can't hide my sharp grin. In just a handful of days I'll be in the arena slaughtering my way through the other tributes. Until then, I'd have to content myself with watching the other Reaping ceremonies and scoping out the competition.


	2. Arrival at the Capitol

_Cato_

* * *

The Reaping ceremony for District 1 was already cued up and ready to play when Antonia and I stepped onto the train, their escort beaming toothily into the camera as she babbled on about the honor of the games. District 1 always seemed to appreciate all the fuss made over the Reapings and people in the crowd looked like they were dressed for a parade or a big party. A few of them were waving little flags and streamers. Brutus and Enobaria were sitting in a couple of the chairs in front of the television screen. Brutus had a glass tumbler with something golden inside it while Enobaria was absently cradling a crystal wine glass filled to the brim with dark red wine. Enobaria spun her chair around partway when we entered, nodding at Braxton before turning her attention to Antonia and I. "Take a seat tributes. It's time for you to get a look at your competition," she drawled out, motioning to the two remaining chairs with her wine glass.

"Why should I care who my competition is?" Antonia replied with a huff and a toss of her hair. "We all know which tributes are getting down to the final four."

"And that's exactly how the non-Career districts scrape out wins," Brutus told her, not glancing away from the television. "Take a seat."

"But-"

" _Take a seat_ ," Enobaria growled, baring her pointed teeth at Antonia. Antonia's mouth snapped shut and she stormed across the room to practically throw herself into her chair, face set in a mutinous scowl. I couldn't wait to be rid of her.

I took my own seat just as the first tribute from District 1 took the stage. She was a tall, buxom girl with russet colored curls who appeared to be looking down on the world at large. She introduced herself as Cordelia Navratna, arching a single eyebrow when she did so, as if she found it absurd that everyone didn't already know her name. She was probably going to be just as delightful to work with as Antonia. She'd have some combat prowess though, so I'd have to keep both girls around until we'd thinned the herd a bit. Her district partner was a brawny boy with his dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail. He smiled for the crowd as he introduced himself as Regulus Tourmaline but his eyes remained dead the whole time. Cordelia shook hands with him and then quickly wiped her palm against her dress as if she was afraid she'd catch some kind of incurable disease just by touching him. District 1 was wealthy enough to have some class differences, and it looked like Cordelia definitely thought those slight differences mattered. She looked at Regulus like he was something disgusting she'd find on the bottom of her shoe. She could potentially make cooperation as part of a temporarily unified Career Pack difficult.

The image on the screen changed to our Reaping, showing Antonia's over eager race to the stage. Brutus huffed out a laugh at that and Antonia turned her chair slightly to scowl at him. "What?"

"You look like an excited child," he told her, grinning nastily over the rim of his tumbler. "Not the best look for a Career." Antonia scowled fiercely at him, arms folded over her chest, as the screen showed me making my way onto the stage. The camera zoomed in on my face as I smirked down at the crowd and introduced myself.

"Now that we can work with," Enobaria said approvingly. "You already have the makings of a real champion right there." Antonia made a tiny, furious noise at that as the screen changed to district three. The tributes there were a tiny boy who sobbed uncontrollably from the moment his name was called and an even tinier girl who managed a single wobbly smile through her tears. Neither one was likely to be a threat, even if they did have some useful special skill. The screen changed to District 4, revealing an ocean backdrop while the escort theatrically fished around in the bowl and came up with a paper. The boy she called up was lean and tanned and he managed to offer a surprisingly charming smile, albeit nervous, smile for the politely clapping crowd as he took his place. He looked like he had muscle from daily work, not necessarily weapons training, but he could be decent help at thinning the panicked mass of tributes during the bloodbath.

Onscreen the escort was unfolding the paper with the female tributes name on it, taking a moment before announcing, "Summer Hayes." The girl that made her way up to the stage had windswept golden curls and cold blue eyes that stared blankly out into the crowd. Her fellow tribute offered his hand and she ignored it, gaze fixed ahead as the beaming smile on her escort's face faltered.

"Hmm..." Enobaria hummed, eyes narrowed at the screen as the camera showed the two District 4 tributes herded off the stage. "She looks a look like their victor from a couple years ago."

"The pretty one that led Theo around like a puppy on a leash before she slit his throat?" Brutus commented.

"She led him around by more than a leash," was Enobaria's wry response before she turned to look at us. "Her name was Raelynn or Rosemary or something flowery like that. If this is the little sister, you'll want her in with the Careers. Otherwise she'll pull sponsor money away from you."

"Why?" Antonia demanded, sinking lower in her chair when Enobaria scowled at her.

"The girl from a couple years ago hung herself and got turned into the Capitol's little tragic darling," Brutus explained as the girl from District 5 limped her way onto the stage, half dragging her right leg behind her. "If this girl from 4 really is her little sister, then sponsors will trip all over themselves trying to support her."

"The tributes from 4 looked almost useful this year," I said as a tiny, doe eyed boy with shaking legs stumbled his way onto the stage. "We'll string them along for a bit and then get rid of them right before the Feast." Enobaria nodded approvingly at me and Brutus lifted his tumbler in my direction as the screen changed to the District 6 Reaping.

The pair of tributes from 6 were malnourished and slow, and most the people in the crowd seemed to not have a clue who they were until they made it to the stage. They were followed by the two from 7 who looked weedy and frightened but approached the stage at almost the speed Antonia had, eager to get this whole thing over with. The girl from 8 was Clove's age and scowled out at everyone with about the same level of ferocity my little cousin did when something displeased her. Her district partner was eighteen and made it up on the stage in time to vomit all over the escort's fancy sandals. Antonia sputtered out a laugh at the escort's horrified shriek, some of her sulkiness fading away. "Her _face_ ," she sputtered out, wrapping her arms around her stomach and almost sinking to the floor as she laughed. "Did you see her face?" For the first time she looked like a tolerable human being and not a sulky little murder brat who stomped and screamed when she didn't get her way. I grinned when she glanced over at me and she laughed harder. "That was amazing!"

"Focus, brats," Enobaria chided as the boy from District 9 was dragged kicking and screaming onto the stage by a pair of Peacekeepers, and we both turned our attention back to the screen in time for it to change to District 10. The two chosen for 10 looked almost identical, with the same heart shaped face and dark curly hair. Their mother had to be restrained by Peacekeepers, sobbing and screaming as they took the stage. The boy from 11 was a hulking figure but was missing an arm, empty sleeve tied closed and flapping in the wind as he stepped on to the stage. His district partner was a determined looking girl with cropped short hair and a crooked jaw that stayed clenched tight the entire time she was on stage. Chances were good that they'd both make it through the initial Bloodbath, and the girl would probably make it all the way to the Feast before she finally get knocked off. They'd both be ones to keep an eye on.

The tributes from 12 were scrawny, underfed things that made their way up to the platform on shaking legs. The clapping was scattered and muted and the people looked more sad and resigned than anything else. The two tributes scanned the crowd, as if hoping this whole thing was a nightmare and they were hoping to wake up. They still had that look about them as they were ushered off the stage. They'd be easy prey, like most of the other tributes that had been called, weak and frightened and wanting desperately to go home. If they headed into the Bloodbath, they'd die.

Enobaria flipped off the television as the Reapings started again and spun her chair to look at both of us. "Thoughts?" she said, arching an eyebrow when Antonia let out another little giggle from her position slumped halfway on the floor. Apparently she was still stuck on the mess from District 8.

"The pair from 11 could be trouble," I said since Antonia obviously wasn't going to contribute. "The boy may be missing an arm but he looks strong and you can see the muscles on the girl. The pair from 10 could be trouble too, since they're siblings."

"The boy from 9 might be trouble, you know if he makes it past the Bloodbath," Antonia added, apparently managing to get her giggles under control. "If he's willing to fight the Peacekeepers all the way up to the stage, he's probably willing to put up a fight in the arena."

"Good observations, both of you," Brutus told us as Enobaria finished off the last of his wine. "It's nice to know you have some brains to go with your skills. Our tributes usually end up losing to District 1 if they're all brawn."

"We'll arrive at the Capitol in an hour or so," Enobaria said, rising from her chair. "Until then feel free to wander the train and occupy yourself."

"And remember, the Games have already started," Brutus added as he followed his fellow victor from the car. "You're only display from the moment you volunteered until the moment you come back alive."

* * *

_Summer_

* * *

The Capitol radiated light like a beacon, the setting sun making every single one of the glass covered buildings almost too bright to look at. Aron and I both winced, lifting our hands to shield our eyes from the glare. "Oh good, we're almost there," Farah announced cheerfully, tossing aside the tablet she'd been reading on and bouncing up from her seat to peer eagerly through the windows. "Almost home." She seemed to be almost vibrating with excitement, as if being away from the Capitol long enough to handle the Reaping ceremony was almost too much to bare. I could sort of understand that. I already missed the sounds of the ocean and the feel of sand between my toes, the way my mom hummed as she cleaned up the dinner dishes, and the rustling sounds of my dad coming in from the market long after I'd been shooed off to bed. The train felt too quiet, especially after we'd watched the other Reaping ceremonies and seen who we were going up against.

When the male tribute for District 2 had come on screen, all muscled limbs and good looks with an absolutely arrogant smirk that he aimed directly at the camera when made his way to the stage, Aron had gone milk pale and looked like he was struggling not to vomit. I didn't blame him. The two tributes from 1 had looked competent, but they'd had very little on camera charisma. The girl had been too full of herself and the boy had come off as a little bit slimy as he smiled at the camera. The girl from District 2 had been far too eager to scramble onto the stage and the smile she'd given the camera was downright bloodthirsty. No one would trust her to lead, so that left her district partner to head up the Career Pack, and by the looks of him, he was definitely up to the task. I'd felt my stomach twist into knots at the sight of him and I'd wiped my sweaty palms against the fabric of my dress when the screen had changed to show District 3's Reaping.

The train rounded a lake and the worst of the glare faded away, helping the Capitol change from a silhouette into a collection of gaudy, glassy looking buildings that stretched up towards the sky as if its citizens were trying to reach whatever might be in the heavens. Most the buildings were rounded and every single one of them seemed to be made almost entirely out of windows. Even District 1 with the gemstones set into the doorways, wasn't this flashy. The visible opulence that the Capitol seemed to flaunt only increased my feelings of homesickness. I wasn't going to fit in here, not in my simple yellow sundress and worn sandals. District 4 might not have been as badly off as the lower districts, but we didn't tend to go for flashy. We stuck with mostly light, practical clothing that was easy to work in and wouldn't make us any warmer than we had to be in the midday sun. Now I was about to be surrounded by people who dressed like Farah every single day. People who were excited to meet me and then watch me die.

My stomach gave an unpleasant roll at that thought while the train glided to a smooth stop. "Oooh, we're here!" Farah clapped her hands in delight and whirled to face us. "Come on you two! Let's grab your mentors and get out there!"

Aron looked a little pale but his expression was determined as he allowed our escort to pull him to her feet. I hurried to stand before Farah could also drag me up, following the two of them out of the sitting room car we'd been sitting in. Our mentors were waiting for us already in the next car. Finnick Odair, youngest victor ever, had been mentoring our male tributes at fifteen, a year after his win in the 65th Hunger Games. He was handsome and charming, which made him popular with the Capitol citizens, and usually did a good job securing sponsor gifts for his tributes if they survived the Bloodbath. Normally Mags Flanagan was the other mentor for our district, but she'd taken a year off. Instead Chella Reed, who'd won the 60th Hunger Games under Mags' tutelage, had taken her place. Chella was classically pretty with honey blonde curls cut into a bob and wide, sea green eyes. She'd been in the Career Pack during her Hunger Games but had split from them before the feet and assassinated the remaining competition that the other Careers hadn't gotten. She'd mentored a couple of our tributes before, stepping in whenever Mags needed a break, but she hadn't been as successful as her mentor or Finnick.

"Don't look so grim," Chella told us with a gentle smile, reaching out to squeeze our hands reassuringly. "These people are here to cheer about your arrival and treat you like celebrities, not here to eat you alive."

"You need to smile for them," Finnick added. "And act like you're excited to have them fawning over you. The Hunger Games started the moment your names were called and you set foot on that stage. From here on, everything you do will effect your chances of survival, so smile big and convince them you're happy to be here, because these people may save your lives later."

Aron and I both nodded as Farah stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine, followed by Chella and then Finnick. The crowd practically exploded into excited cheers when Finnick emerged from the train and I saw the flash of cameras as people pushed against one another, trying to get a better look at him. The chaos had Aron and I exchanging an uncertain look before we stepped out of the train together. I did my best to force a wide, fake smile on my face as Aron waved at the crowd. He had a tentative but endearing grin that several of the nearby girls seemed to swoon over. That would definitely help him win sponsors of the female persuasion. If I got to live long enough to fight, Aron would definitely be competition. That thought made it hard to keep smiling, and I was hyper-aware of how plasticky and fake the expression felt. I wondered if that watching crowd could tell that I wasn't actually happy to be here, but they just kept cheering and waving. One little girl, no older than twelve, leaned over the barrier separating the crowd from the arriving tributes and offered me a bouquet of white lilies, their stems wrapped in blue tissue paper.

"Thank you," I told her, my smile becoming a little more genuine as I gently cradled the bouquet to my chest, burying my nose in the flowers to inhale their scent. For a moment I was whisked back home, smelling the lily perfume my mom pulled out for special occasions. Dad had saved up for several years to buy her the small bottle, so she used it sparingly, but only for good occasions, like the day Rosalyn had come back to use. I blinked back tears and carefully removed a lily from the bouquet, tucking it carefully behind the little girl's ear. "Why don't you hold on to this one for me?" I said, smile coming easily for the first time since my name had been called. "That way we match."

"Okay!" the little girl said, flushing an adorable pink and beaming up at me. My genuine smile stayed in place the rest of the way to the Remake Center as I gently cradled to flowers to my chest, clinging to the memory of my mom's hugs and the sweet scent of her perfume.


End file.
